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Updated: May 5, 2025
I understand that just at present he's paying rather high for them, which is some satisfaction. That creature Nash told one of our men the other day that Melrose now treats him like dirt, and finds his chief amusement in stopping anything he wants to do." "Then he'd better look sharp after the will," said Undershaw, with a smile. "Melrose is game for any number of tricks yet.
Is it any wonder that at a spot so remote from civilisation law should be set at defiance, and that the one lone policeman who perambulates the district should tremble as he passed the sinister gates of 'Undershaw'? In a large room of this manor house, furnished with a luxuriant elegance one would not have expected in a region so far from humanising influences, sat two men.
"Do as you like, in moderation," said Undershaw, "no railway journey for a week or two." Melrose had gone to Carlisle. The Cumbria landscape lay in a misty sunshine, the woods and fields steaming after a night of soaking rain. All the shades of early summer were melting into each other; reaches of the river gave back a silvery sky, while under the trees the shadows slept.
Undershaw slipped his hands into his pockets. The coolness of the gesture was not lost on Melrose. "I regret that for a few days to come I cannot sanction anything of the kind. My business, Mr. Melrose, as a doctor, is not to kill people, but, if I can, to cure them." "Don't talk such nonsense to me, sir! Every one knows that any serious case can be safely removed in a proper ambulance.
But no sooner had they passed a huge lacquer screen, newly placed in position, and turned into the great corridor, than Undershaw exclaimed in amazement. Melrose was striding along toward the south wing. Behind them, screened off, lay regions no longer visible to any one coming from the hall.
"Not to-night not to-night," pleaded Undershaw who had seen Netta Melrose professionally, only that morning. "I dread the mere shock for Mrs. Melrose. Let them have their sleep! I will be over early to-morrow." By the first dawn of the new day Tatham was in the saddle. Just as he was starting from the house, there arrived a messenger, and a letter was put into his hand.
She handed him a wrap she had brought in upon her arm. "Yes it's December," said Boden, smiling, to Lady Tatham; "but perhaps" the accent was ironical "when she comes back the seasons will have changed!" The session broke up in excited conversation, of which Faversham was the centre. "This is final?" said Undershaw, eying him keenly. "You intend to stand by it?"
The night was gloomy and lowering after a day of rain, but the very sombreness of the scene made the brilliant stained glass windows stand out like the radiant covers of a Christmas number. Such was the appearance presented by 'Undershaw', the home of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, situated among the wilds of Hindhead, some forty or fifty miles from London.
He himself regarded it with a fanatical veneration; and one of the chief pleasures of his life was to beguile some passing dealer into making an offer for it, and then contemptuously show him the door. "Doctor Undershaw, Muster Melrose." Melrose stood to arms. A young man entered, his step quick and decided.
That man Undershaw says you must have some society invite some people." Faversham laughed. "I don't know a soul, either at Keswick or Pengarth." "There have been some people inquiring after you." "Oh, young Tatham? Yes, I knew him at Oxford." "And the women who are they?" Faversham explained. "Miss Penfold seems to have recognized me from Undershaw's account.
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